


a warm thaw

by badAquatic



Series: Trailerstuck [80]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Abuse of Memes, Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Human/Troll Society, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, F/M, Fan Offspring, Grubs, Illustrated, M/M, Wakes & Funerals, discussion of past rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-03-31 23:28:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3997237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badAquatic/pseuds/badAquatic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In New Jack, no one cares that winter is ending. Winter is a brief and uninteresting thing; nothing that can be compared to the current quadrant-related shifts and upheavals going on in the neighborhood. </p><p>Takes place immediately after "in the underdraft".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. purple, red, and awkward all over

**== > Be Karkat after the surprising outcome to a strange Saturday evening **

 

There are spirited online debates about what to call the incident between Petros and Gamzee. You offer several names: Pitchgate, GDilfgate, anything with the suffix – _gate_ until Terezi threatens to ban you from the chat group. Gamzee doesn’t contribute to the naming of the incident. He’s flustered by it, according to Tavros, and won’t speak of it; as if the situation was reversed and he was the one who kissed Tavros on a pitch-fueled whim. You have your own theories about the situation: that Gamzee realized he preferred to be submissive in a kismesistude rather than the aggressor like with Nepeta. For a prison clown, _that_ must be a bitter pill to swallow.

Your sense of schadenfreude is delight by this fact, as you take what little pleasure you can get these days. It keeps your mind off Mindfang’s condition. When you learned Aranea was taking time off work, you knew it was for making cost-effective funerary plans. You wish there was something you could offer to the Nitrams and Serkets besides generic sympathies but you’re not family. Not really. Your weak connection is through Vriska and you severed that during the break-up.

Monday afternoon you go to the Nitram trailer with Sollux to visit Tavros. He’s on laying leave until March. When you get to the trailer, Tavros is sitting in the living room with the door wide open fanning in the obnoxious January heat wave.

The trailer is strangely absent of animals and when you ask the brownblood about it, he frowns. “They don’t like to hang around when grandpa isn’t here. It’s like a pack of wolves, I guess. They like to be around the alpha. When the alpha’s gone, they go about their own way. He’s been gone since Saturday.”

“I bet Rufioh _loves_ that.” Sollux snorts, sitting on the couch.

“Mom’s…dealing with a lot of other things right now.” Tavros sighs.

You’ve never seen Rufioh deal with grief. At every funeral, he wore a look of sad dissonance. He offered condolences and blunts for those who needed the edge taken off their pain. However, no one is in the Nitram trailer, save for Tavros, the loyal cats, and the occasional exploratory roach or ant. Tavros is anxiously chewing a lollipop because the stress makes him want still forbidden cigarettes.

You know he hates it when people fuss over him. Equius must be doing that all the time and he had a moirail, so you ask instead, “Where’s Gamzee?”

“With his sister.” Tavros shrugs, “He didn’t want to go. He doesn’t like leaving me completely alone for too long but sometimes he gets in a certain way and he needs to be with his moirail for a while. I can’t police Gamzee’s hygiene habits and constantly fuss over an egg and school. It’s too much. I still flush him but we need time apart.”

There’s a yowl in the corner and you look over just in time to see a cat dashing across the floor after a large black rat. Tavros yawns indifferently but you shudder and inch closer to Sollux. The rat problem was compounded at the Captor trailer, to the point where not even glue traps would daunt them. Jade and Jake’s brazen attitudes cowed the rats at SHEV. They considered it war and every animal act, whether it was shitting in the cupboards or chewing on boxes, to be an act of aggression for which there would be no mercy. Strider and you are currently both neutral in the war, being terrified of the enemy. Dirk would never be in the same room as a rat or be present for any discussion about them.

“I can tell you’re stressed, Nitram. You’re turning into more of a hairy wolf than _Jake_.” you snicker.

Tavros glares at him. “Stress doesn’t cause hair growth. I still have pregnancy hormones in my system.”

“And here I thought you were trying to cop Troll JonTron’s look.” Sollux says.

Tavros’s face bronzes. He sits up, still fanning himself. “I do not _look_ like him! I’m losing the weight!”

“That’s just how Sollux complements people.” You say, “The Captor brain can only dole out conversations in sarcastic quips. Plus, you know how Troll JonTron satisfies Sollux’s size kink.”

“I do _not_ have a size kink!” Sollux blatantly lies, “Tavros is the one with the massive matesprit that could eat him.”

Now it’s Tavros’s turn to grin. “Oh, he does.”

“ _Ew._ ” you grumble.

“Hey, I don’t go ‘ _ew’_ when you talk about assfucking Dave.” Tavros growls.

Sollux laughs. “ _What_?” he asks.

“Oh my gods. _Tavros_!” you say, “I told you not to tell anyone”

Sollux nearly keels over with laughter, peppered with “Oh gods!” and “Strider subbed! Perfect!”. He whips out his iHusk and starts texting with a maniacal grin. “I have to send him a ‘congrats on the sex’ gif!”

You try to snatch the iHusk but the yellowblood’s arms are longer and he’s determined not to let you have it. You insist that Sollux surrenders it (because if Strider hears about this, you’ll never get a chance to tap that sweet ass ever again) but Sollux isn’t making it easy. You attempts to get it only land you both on the floor with Tavros cackling. Sollux continues typing with typical Captor determination.  

“And just sent Strider a gif of a tiny tinkerbull attempting to hump a very angry tomcat with ‘congrats on the sex’ caption.” Sollux snickers.

You just learned the hard way that _nothing_ short of the apocalypse can stop a Captor from doing anything on a computer. “You suck! How in the hell can you keep the phone from me when I’m so much bigger than you?”

“You’re not _that_ big, KK.” Sollux snickers. He’s lying under you and grinning like a smug lion lusus.

You hear a phone click behind you and look over your shoulder at Tavros. He’s texting, “I’m putting this on Trollbook.”

You sit up, still on top of Sollux. “You better fucking _not_!”

“Already done.” Tavros says.

“Am I _just_ an echo to you people?” you growl.

“You can get off of me anytime soon, King Crab.” Sollux grunts.

You glare down at him. “I’m not moving because I hate you.”

“Yeah, but you’re…uh…” Sollux’s face is tinged yellow.

You’re not prepared when something nudges your nook and if it weren’t for your clothes, it—Sollux’s _bulge_ —would be inside of you. You climb off the yellowblood, stammering an excuse about needing to get home because you have homework and work and just other places to be but _here_.

You retreat to SHEV and hide under the futon sheets until your bulge stops rubbing against the inside of your boxers. When you’re calm, you take a cold shower and spend the night avoiding Trollbook, your iHusk, the internet, Sollux, and everything connected to him. You avoid him the next day at school and Sollux doesn’t pursue or apologize.

You also avoid Strider. He’s not too pleased about Sollux finding out.

He gives you space, which is…weird. For the first in your friendship, Sollux and you aren’t talking on purpose…and you miss him. On Wednesday, you check Trollbook after a temporary sabbatical but find no interesting updates to Sollux’s page or Tavros’s. There are no pictures of you on top of Sollux either.

This merits investigation.

Wednesday after school, you go over to the Captor-Pyrope trailer. You’re not scared to talk to Sollux though. Not really. You’ve known Sollux since he hatched and you’re one of the people in the very small category of people that the tetchy psionic can talk to without flipping his shit.

It’s obscenely hot outside so the front door and windows are open. Sollux is sitting in the living room at his laptop typing with a grub pen next to him. He glances at you but looks back to his husktop.

You look in the grub pen and see Suxxor angrily squeaking at his father. “What’s wrong with him?” you ask.

“Timeout.” Sollux says. He picks up a yellow bee-themed mouse and shows you the gnawed cord. “He did _this_ to my favorite mouse.” You look at Suxxor, who is glaring menace at the bright mouse. Sollux tosses the mouse away. “I just can’t _wait_ until puperty.”

“Where was Eridan during his?”

“Reading. He says he can’t study for his GED and watch Suxxor. He’s also super protective of Dmitry’s egg and he’s worried Suxxor will hurt it.”

It wouldn’t be the first time a grub hurt another one. Infants just don’t know their own strength. You sit next to Sollux on the couch. “At least he’s dedicated. The old Eridan would just give up on something once an easier solution came along.”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” Sollux is robotically sifting through a database, clicking and checking with other databases in different windows.

He must be uncomfortable so you inch away from him. “Okay. So. About what happened on Monday…I uh…we’ve been friends for years, Sollux. I don’t want to change that. You’re like one of my only non-quad friends and I’m not ready for anything else and…well, you know.” You don’t have to mention the flush-conflict.

Sollux pauses in his typing and sighs, though calling it a ‘sigh’ is gracious. It’s more of a forceful exhale lacking emotional context. He looks at you, with flickering red-blue eyes. “KK, I’m not interested in you. It was an accident. I even made sure Tavros took down that picture of us and didn’t tell anyone what happened.”

The heat rises in your face. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Sollux smiles and moves closer to you. He rests his head on your shoulder. “Yeah. I did.”

You can’t argue with that kind of gallantry, but your stomach is still nervous. “I wasn’t really upset at you or anything. Just…surprised I guess.”

“It’s impossible to avoid surprise wriggle-ons when you have two bulges.” Sollux returns to typing with no immediacy to his attitude, “Sometimes they jostle against each other or you wake up and one is knotted around the other.”

You wince. “That happen a lot?”

“Twice. It’s hell because if you can’t unknot them, you have to go to the hospital because it can grip too tightly and cut off blood flow. It’s like what happens to human guys when their testicles get twisted.”

You grimace. “That can _happen_?”

Sollux laughs. “Oh my gods! You really _didn’t_ pay attention in biology _or_ health class!”

“Why would I? My testicles are _inside_ of me.” At least you _think_ the troll equivalent of testicles are internal. What _are_ the troll equivalent of testicles anyways? Is it shame globes? “What are you working on?”

“Complicated ass coding your crab brain couldn’t comprehend. Then I’ll message Kan and Fef about Momeju’s doctor appointment.”

You haven’t seen Kanaya or Mituna lately. When you ask Sollux, he informs you that Mituna has been antisocial and moody since Latula’s hospital stay. “All he does is sit in his room and game. Eridan and me have to make sure he still eats.” He sighs. “Some days are harder than others.”

Being separated from someone you love must take a toll on people but it must be especially hard for Mituna’s fractured mind. “You never told me what your senior final is about.”

“The history of trolls in the military in relation to the development of Alternian-New Earth hybrid tech. Terezi thinks it would look good on an IT college application.”

“Which college are you applying to?”

“I got plenty offers, but I gotta make them work for me. I need daycare, health care, flexible working hours and programs. Can’t live on campus either.” The husktop screen flips from the window of code to his inbox. It’s full of emails from various colleges. “I still need to take basic courses so maybe start at NJCC…though if I get a scholarship, I could go to NJU or Mt. Acacia.”

“NJU is _huge_ , Sollux. You’ll need a car to get forward and back.” The bus commute to the university was an infamous pain in the ass.  

“That’s part of the problem.” He returns to his coding. “Still hoping for a scholarship to take some of the sting out of tuition and books.”

You linger at Sollux’s, finishing your research paper outline and conceiving your presentation. Sollux and you exchange, proofread, and comment on each other’s ideas. After an hour, Eridan slinks out of his room stinking of sandalwood and cinnamon incense. He nods to you, makes some tea, and seals himself back inside of the room. After refueling, Eridan vanishes back into the room. You’re so surprised by his sudden appearance and then disappearance that you forget to ask to see Dmitry’s egg.

Sollux and you share a dinner of instant mac and cheese and frozen burritos, which have mild freezer burn. Suxxor eats a mix of grub pellets and mac and cheese. Then, the grub watches cartoons, runs in a circle, and eventually crawls into Sollux’s lap and falls sleep.

“He’s cute when he’s asleep and not destroying things.” You say.

“Yeah.” Sollux pokes the grub on the nose. Suxxor growls, bats at the finger, but remains asleep. “It’s weird to be so annoyed with him but I’d still cut off my leg to give him everything in the world if I could.” He pauses. “KK, I don’t know how much longer I want to stay here. I’m scared a rat is going to bite Suxxor and what about the lusii? And the swamps? And that scary as shit mud hole?”

“By the time Suxxor is running around, there’ll be fencing around that hole. And where could you go?” There are plenty of people who’d leave the Ninth Ward, but few have the income to do some. Most cities shun newcomers seeking aid or stick you in a multiple family hovel. There are still a hundred people living in motels after Calliope flooded them out.

Sollux doesn’t answer. He softly strokes the prickly dark hair on Suxxor. He’s inherited Sollux’s short spiky hair and not Eridan’s long wavy strands.

“Things have to get better, Sollux.” You say.

The yellowblood blinks, then looks at you. “What makes you say that?”

“Law of averages.” you insist, “Things can only be shitty for so long before they get better. Look at Leder. It was a shitty country. Now things are slightly better.”

Sollux frowns. “It was only shitty for non-humans and women and I don’t really consider survival-of-the-fittest anarchy to be an improvement.” Suxxor whimpers in his sleep and Sollux holds him closer. “I don’t want my son to go through that.”

“Things have to get better.” You repeat.

But you’re not absolute on anything in the future, not even your own. What you can be absolute on is the tranquility of sitting close to Sollux and the loud chirp of crickets and wildlife of the park.

It hurts to leave him but you have to go home. This isn’t your home, he’s not your matesprit, and it would be wrong to linger. You hate yourself a little more for reasons you can’t put into words. Only in your trailer are you successful in pushing away the feelings, keeping your attention on Dave, work, school, and anything else.

The next day, you learn that Mindfang passed away in her sleep. Aranea is stoic delivering the news and speaking of it. She’s resigned her emotions so that she can go through the motions of preparing for her mother’s funeral and must hold the grim knowledge that her new child will never personally know her close to the chest. Rufioh is far more withdraw, curled up in on himself in a private pain.

You buy a new suit for the funeral since your old one doesn’t fit anymore.

Petros is still missing and no one is asking for him.


	2. death of a pirate queen

**== >Karkat: Be Vriska at the will reading **

Kanaya informs you via Trollbook of Grandma Mindfang’s death. You don’t cry, Grandma Mindfang wouldn’t want that. She was a pirate queen, a rebel who didn’t give two fucks about anyone’s opinion. That’s only something you can _hope_ to aspire to. You only promise to go to will reading and funeral so Kanaya will stop hounding you.

For the first time in months, you’ll be interacting with your family face to face, so you have to make preparations. You make sure to be in Hecuba’s good graces so you can borrow one of her cars. The last thing you want to do is rely on anyone from the park for transport. Before leaving, you make sure Snippy and Arthat have enough food and water.

The will reading is Friday evening in some lawyer’s office downtown. It’s stuffy with the air conditioner cranked up too high and full of people in stiff dark suits. While the lawyer is droning on about legal clauses, you look at your relatives to estimate what’s on their mind. 

Your mother is fidgeting and most likely wondering where Arthat currently is. Your father is secretly grinning and must assume you’re a high class call girl. The only reason she’s allowed here is as Rufioh’s emotional support, but the brownblood is holding in his pain. Tavros is uncomfortable around you. Horuss is ignoring you. Kanaya is glaring at you.

Asshole. What right does she have to judge you?

“ _Vriska_.” Your mother says.

You pick your head. You were too concerned thinking about Kanaya’s obnoxious judgments to pay attention to anything else in the room. “W-what?”

The lawyer clears his throat. “Your grandmother left you something in her will.”

It can’t be anything good. At the end of her life, Mindfang didn’t own much. The magical dice were buried, the remaining treasures gambled away, the earnings lost in other bets, the gambling debts nearly paid off, and the loan sharks frightened away. All that remained was a corpse and a legacy no one believed

You want to disregard any gift, but the family’s eyes are on you. Instead of a sarcastic answer, you say in your most polite voice: “What did dear grandmother leave me?”

The lawyer’s eyes go back to the will’s yellowed paper: “ _To_ _my descendent who shares my bloodline, I bequeath the two charms that aided me on my ventures. The first is the sword I used to slay the reaver-queen Dreaded Mindmark. The second is my artificial arm, awarded to me for not divulging information under the tortures of The False Emperor. It is to be placed in storage until the time it will be used.”_

You’re all for owning a fancy sword (especially for cosplay and LARPing), but the arm doesn’t make sense. Your grandmother was almost twice your size. Her metal arm would make you fall over. “I…accept.” You say, only because there’d be a fight if you decline grandmother’s gifts.

Your mother receives Grandma Mindfang’s journals, which is fitting only she can read them. Your uncle receives your grandmother’s ‘special charm’: a white orb no bigger than a cue ball and a smooth surface. Tavros receives a box of glass eyes and Kanaya the remainder of the jewelry. They’re tarnished with age but your jadeblood twin swears to cherish it all the same.

Concluding the reading, the lawyers says: “ _And Rufioh, when you see your father again, tell him that I died loving him still and that I am sorry.”_

Rufioh nods and blinks away tears.

You try to slip away after the will reading but one look at your mother claws you with guilt. She refuses to shed a tear and looks exhausted, struggling with her mother’s death and a laborious pregnancy. The group reconvenes at your mother’s trailer. The trailer has more decorations and the air reeks slightly of machine oil and sweat. You remain standing as everyone talks.

Tavros has the box of glass eyes in his lap. Its made of a stained dark wood with a velvet lining inside. “Why did she give _this_ to me?” He looks at Aranea, worried. “Did she think I was going to lose an eye? Or maybe someone else?”

“I’m sure she didn’t do it out of malice, Tavros.” Aranea says, tiredly, “From mother’s perspective, you’re a warmblood and more prone to sickness and injury. Mother was always prepared for the worse but she _definitely_ couldn’t see the future.”

“Says you.” Tavros glances at you. “And what about the arm?”

“The arm was costly for mother. She must have that…the affordability of another is questionable.” Aranea gives a pitying look at Tavros’s legs.

“She knew though...” Rufioh mutters, his head in Porrim’s lap. “She knew Dad was alive this whole time…”

“For all the good it did her.” Aranea sighs. Rufioh gives her a look like a kicked puppy and she sighs again, “Oh, Rufioh, don’t give me that look. He’ll come back. He always comes back.”

Rufioh frowns and says nothing.

“This is it, isn’t it?” Horuss says, “Only three of our parent’s generation left: the Grand Highblood and the Condesce.”

“There’s a bet: who’ll be the first to perish?” Porrim chuckles.

Aranea growls. “That’s in poor taste, Porrim. Especially _now_.”

“I’m talking about _my_ father. Not _yours_.” Porrim says, ignoring the threat in your mother’s voice. “The man’s been dead to me since he made Kurloz mute. If my father’s survived this far in Amethyst, he won’t die easy. His heart will pump wine-dark blood until it evaporates. It would pump _dust_ if it could.”

“How old was she…?” Rufioh says, eyes skyward, “We never learned how old they were. Dad’s still young and Mom just…withered away. It was supposed to be the opposite. Why? Why that...happen?”

You don’t know if he’s asking anyone in the room or the gods. No one answers him until Aranea speaks up.

“She was old.” Your mother insists, “and now her life is over, so maybe we shouldn’t dwell on things we’ll never know. I’ve been making funeral arrangements for mother since the day she went into the nursing home. The funeral is this Sunday.”

“ _Sunday_? So soon?” Porrim asks.

“The only way we could save money was to not have mother’s body in storage for too long,” Aranea sighs, “The temple charges the least to tend to the body but they won’t keep for long without a steep price.”

There’s more discussion about the funeral but you have nothing to contribute, so you go the kitchen. You get a drink from fridge and explore the trailer for changes. The halls have more decorations—photography, framed articles and certificates—and then you come to your old bedroom. Its changed completely; with your old crib and child friendly animal posters. It feels so much emptier now without your bed and old junk.

“How old are they?”

You almost jump out of your skin and turn to see Kanaya standing behind you. You hate how your sister and father stalk into rooms and pounce on people, and the highblood streak running through them makes it even creepier.

“You haven’t said a word to me and _that’s_ the first thing out of your mouth?” you grumble, “Nice to see you too, sis.”

“I tried talking to you civilly for weeks but you want to pretend you live in another country instead of across the interstate.” Kanaya says, “So I’ll be _direct_. That’s what you want, isn’t it? Confrontation.”

“I want to be left alone.” You growl.

“You could’ve left after the will reading.”

You flip her off, “Piss off, Kanaya. What are you going to do? Tattle on me?”

The color rises to Kanaya’s face. “I only tattled because you always hurt yourself!”  

“You’re not my fucking mother, Kanaya. I don’t harass you about whatever you’re doing with Feferi.”

Kanaya’s face darkens with jade. “What…what are you _implying_?” she says, with a scandalized hiss, “Feferi is my _friend_.”

“You’re as much friend to Feferi as a junkie is ‘friends’ with smack.”

Kanaya frowns. “Who the hell says ‘smack’ anymore…?”

You’re not sure actually but you continue, “When was the last time you did anything with Eridan? _Better_ question: why are you bothering when it’s obvious you both need to move on?” Kanaya glares but shrinks back. You have no idea what’s going on with her quadrants but calling her out sends a wonderful rush through your entire body. “Doesn’t feel so good when you have someone breathing down your neck because they ‘ _care’_ , does it?”

Kanaya doesn’t answer. You approach the door but she grabs your shoulder before you can leave.

“I just worry,” She whispers, “I’m scared one day, you’ll disappear and I’ll never know what happened until the police show up at our doorstep. You’re my _twin_ , Vriska. If you die, a part of me dies.”

The naked fear in her eyes makes your skin crawl. You shove her hand away. “Don’t be fucking stupid.”

You leave the trailer without speaking to anyone and return home without stopping anywhere. You go back to the penthouse and find that Hecuba has left and Snippy is sitting on the floor with Arthat on his back, watching his Grub Einstein videos. Arthat is…weird…for a grub. He rarely squeaks or screeches unless he’s angry or frightened. He’s more focused on words, screaming “Que” or “Non” or anything else he picks up. 

Later that night, your mother calls your cellphone about the funeral. Its still be on Monday, which means you have to deal with Vinton about work. Early Saturday morning, you go to Vinton’s studio to work but afterward, you speak to them directly.  

“I need tomorrow off.” You say.

“Give me a reason why I should grant you such a thing even though you’ve been working for only a few weeks.” Vinton says.

“My grandmother died. You have to legally grant me a day of mourning. Four, actually.”

“Bullshit, I have to, girl.”

“It’s a federal law.”

“And you signed a contract saying I can do whatever I please and local law will uphold that,” Vinton says, “unless you have the money to try me in higher court.”

You don’t; not until those WMS fuckheads surrender the money for Nektan’s data. You toy with the idea of psionically forcing Vinton to give you time off, but it’s too risky. Vinton would be suspicious about the sudden memory gaps.

“Please.” you murmur.

“I can’t hear you over the sound of an actual model doing her job.” Vinton says.

“ _Please_.” you growl.

Vinton takes another long drag, holds it, muses on your pleading, and exhales a cloud of smoke. “Fine, but I want something in return. My evenings are so… _boring_ …without you.”

“What do you want?” you growl. If it’s sexual, you’re definitely using your psionics to get out of it.

“I want a fun evening at your place.” Vinton says with a sidelong, lustful glance.

Your skin crawls. “For how long? The funeral’s _tomorrow_.”

“You’re going to spend _all day_ at a dreary funeral? Do you prefer to dine with corpses rather than me?”

Oh, definitely. “You’re usually preoccupied on Sundays.”

“I’ll shove the burden on another director.” They took your cheek, manicured nails pricking into your skin. Hate boils in your stomach but you don’t run.  Victor grins, showing the tips of their fangs,“I say we have fun and I won’t count this little excursion against you.”

You hate them for their power over you but one day, you’ll get the same power and throttle Vinton. “Fine.”  

Vinton nods and you pull from their grip. You run from the studio and only stop when you’re outside Bramble’s Market, breathing heavy and hating Vinton. You collect yourself and return to the penthouse to finish your online assignments and plan your funerary attire. You consider bringing Arthat but decide against it, worrying that he may pick up habits from Themma or Simham. You have the penthouse to yourself for the weekend so you watch a horror movie on Netflix, pig out on chocolate, and observe your inheritance.

You asked your mother to keep grandmother’s metal arm in storage or sell it for scrap, as its too cumbersome to lug around. The sword, however, is contained a box made of the same stained dark wood that the glass eyes were placed in. When you open the box, a wave of must hits you in the face and you have to wave it off before looking inside. The sword isn’t in great condition.

The pommel is covered in pale leather but is decayed the guard and blade collar is splotched with rust. The blade is strangely shaped, like a narrow hook, made for gouging and ripping rather than cutting like a standard blade. The cerulean gilding is flaking off but the Old Alternian characters carved into the blade ridge are still visible, though you can’t read them.

Your grandmother’s mind must have rotted to a pulp when she wrote the will. What good is a sword when people have guns? Its in shabby condition but when you pick up, it has a strange weight: not as heavy as steel and full of deep scratches. You doubt it’ll be good for cosplay. You pick it up just to be sure and find that the blade has a strange weight. It may be made of the same metal as Karkat’s pendant.

You put the sword back in the box and place it in your emergency bag. You leave for Fraymotif, who have half-off drinks past nine o’ clock. At the club, you drink with John on the mezzanine.

“How long are you going to keep wearing those douchebag shades?” you ask.

“Until they turn down the fucking lights in this miserable place.” John mutters into his drink.

 _If you hate it so much, then why are you_ always _here?_ “Thanks for hanging out with me. You’re the only person that isn’t a complete dick to me because I left the Ninth Ward.”

John smiles. “I don’t know any better.”

“John…” You say in your most purposely bored and disinterested voice, so he won’t be alarmed. “…where are you staying?”

John slurps down the remainder of his Ivories In The Fire. “What’re you talking about?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you go home.”

John smirks. “You know as good as anyone else that home is wherever you make it. Honestly? I’m glad the old place got sunk.”

“Bad memories?”

“Yeah, so…good riddance to bad shit. I don’t know, Vris.” He inhales in a painful hiss and takes off the shades. His teeth are clenched as he scrubs his eyes. “I just don’t know. I love Rose. I really do but…” He looks at you for several minutes, eyes bloodshot and baggy with exhaustion. “I’m starting to hate this place. I miss Midway. I miss being on the road.”

Of course John would miss being on the road. On the road, everyone gets wrapped up in their own world and stop looking at you. “Do whatever makes you happy. That’s my motto.”

John smiles. “Yeah…I should.”

He leaves the mezzanine and thirty minutes later, John returns full of energy and laughter. You enjoy this John rather than the bitter, moody one. This John’s full of fun, daring ideas. He’s more than willing to play high stakes poker, pose as waiters to steal tips, or drive all over New Jack without a concern for when he has to return to the Ninth Ward mud hole.

John’s happy and you’re happy, but you can’t erase a clinging thought: _Am I making things worse?_

You return to the penthouse at two in the morning and crawl into bed, only to wake up four hours later when your alarm goes off. You have a throbbing headache so you swallow aspirin and chug coffee.

Arthat is up early, being fussed over by Snippy. When you walk into the room, he looks at you. “ _Maman_!” He steps away from Snippy, moving at you.

“Where’d you learn to say that?” You ask but you pick up the grub. He purrs and rubs his face against your shoulder. It’s strange that Arthat won’t respond to click-chirping or any of the regular noises trolls make with their young, but maybe he just prefers words. “You ready to meet the rest of the family?”

“ _Oui_.” Arthat answers.

“Do you know what that means?” you laugh, walking him to the bedroom.

“ _Oui_.” Arthat sounds a little smug saying that.

“No, you don’t!” you laugh.

“ _Oui_!” Arthat insists. He jumps onto the bed, prancing around it.

You sit on the edge of the bed, watching him survey the bed. “Get back here and put on some clothes, you.”

“ _Non_!” Arthat huffs. He lays down low on the bed, digging his claws into the blanket so he can’t be easily moved.

It takes only a minor amount of coaxing to dislodge Arthat and get him ready. You’d have Snippy bathe him but you need him to look a particular way for the funeral. Arthat always screeches at the sight and sound of water, but a bubble bath fixes that. You blow dry him, comb his hair, and help him put on his clothes.

When you’re done, you hold up a mirror for Arthat to see. “Look, you’re so _adorable_ now. My perfect little scorpion.”

Arthat sniffs the mirror, raises a tiny arm, and then touches the surface. “ _Que_?”

“Yes, that’s you.”

“ _Que?”_ He almost sounds offended by your words.

You tap Arthat lightly on the nose. “Not my fault you’re precious as hell.”

He falls over giggling. Hearing Arthat laugh is rare but puts you at ease. You place Arthat in a carrier and Snippy in your purse.   

“Alright, boys,” you say, “let’s head out.”

Arthat is small for a grub, so he can’t use a seat. He’s constantly squeaking in alarm inside the carrier, but he’ll get use to it eventually. Snippy chitters to him, soothing his worries. You stop off at the local supermarket to purchase a single blue rose and drive to the cemetery plot.

You arrive with everyone else and make conversation as you gather before the pyre. You place Arthat in the purse with Snippy and join the line of people making offerings. Crimson floral cover your grandmother’s pyre and you consider it personal sacrilege. Standing amongst them is your blue rose, an act for which the priest gives you a dirty look. Blue is the color of Air and Darkness—the color not of trickery and adventure instead of humbling and concluding death. You don’t care. It’s what your grandmother would want.

The priest’s prayer is short. “Gods above and below, who make and unmake time and space as they please, take this soul into the heart of the Life-Death Machine and let them pass into paradise.”

Your mother has no words. She silently lights the pyre and watches the white smoke unfurl into the air. There are no bags under her eyes, no tears on her cheeks, or mussed hair. She’s known this had been coming for a long time. The fire quickly consumes the flowers, filling the air with a pleasant floral scent.

“Was Grandma even an Alternian Traditionalist?” Tavros whispers. He waves away the rampant mosquitoes. This place is too close to the deeper parts of the swamp for comfort.

“I’m not all too sure, but mother wanted words said over her body.” Kanaya whispers back.

“Any word on what the plaque will say?” Porrim asks.

“I haven’t heard talk of a plaque…” Kanaya mutters.

You doubt there will be one. Even with the advanced planning of the funeral, your mother is still under financial constraints.

As the pyre burns down, Karkat sidles next to you. “How are you doing?” he whispers.

“ _Fine_.” Your tone is barely cordial. The only reason you’re not blowing him off is because you don’t want to make a scene.

“Are you still mad at me?”

You keep your eyes on the pyre. “I have no reason _not_ to be.”

“Really now.” Karkat’s in no mood for apologies. His eyes aren’t on you but Arthat. “So…this is Arthat. He…” The mutantblood smiles awkwardly. “He’s so _cute_ , Vriska…”

His saccharine tone almost melts your heart. After the break up, you wondered why you were interested in Karkat in the first place. Now you start to remember…and immediately cut the feeling out, locking it away somewhere dark and musty. “You’ll get to see him later on. Right now, we have to say goodbye.”

“Understandable.” Karkat says and doesn’t bother you for the rest of the burning.

The pyre quickly burns down and the priest begins the ministrations of the last rites: digging out the bones and teeth to be placed in the urn. While the others are talking about post-funeral plans, you observe your mother. The priest takes your mother aside and whispers to her. Your mother shakes her head, the priest shrugs, and returns to tending the pyre.

You walk over to her. “What’s going on?”

Your mother blinks and then pushes a lock of hair out of her face. “Nothing important. Are you going back to East now?”

“No. I want to…support you.” You say, as awkwardly as you could make it. Your mother looks skeptical and you huff, “I can be caring too. I’m Kanaya’s twin.”

Your mother shrugs only slightly. “It’s hard for the carrier to forget twins.” She looks at Arthat. “Is this my grandson in the flesh?”

“Yes. He’s adorable.” You take Arthat out of the purse and hold him up.

“ _Que_?” Arthat grumbles.

“Arthat, this is Grandma. My mother.” You say.

“ _Que…”_ Arthat sniffs at Aranea, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“He already talks?” Aranea tilts her head, “Looks like you have a future world leader on your hands.”

Your mother and you start walking to your cars. “All grubs learn to talk eventually.”

“Yes, but not this early. Themma is still learning basic words and Simham can make convincing animal noises.”

You hadn’t realized that and a new point of pride blossoms in you. Your mother’s fascination with Arthat continues at the trailer. You should be getting ready to meet with Vinton, but you haven’t seen your mother so happy in a long time. She doesn’t smile but she enjoys playing with Arthat. Though, you can’t leave him alone with anyone yet; the minute you leave Arthat’s sight, he starts biting.

“He’s going to turn into a Mama’s boy like Simham.” Terezi chuckles.

“There’s nothing wrong with that.” Aranea responds. Arthat sits in her lap. He never lies down on his stomach but prefer to sit straight up, like he’s at a business meeting.

“Why does he keep saying ‘ _que’_?” Karkat asks. He’s been floating on the edge of wherever Arthat is, staring at the grub, and trying to figure out how to react.

“It could be verbal tic. Some grubs develop them.” Aranea says. There’s no smile on her face. She only observes like a bored documentarian of her life. “Look at him: still a baby and sits like the most important person in the room.”

“I guess he’s a tiny adult. Or something…” Karkat mutters.

You can’t tolerate his awkwardness anymore. You take Arthat and walk over to Karkat, “Karkat, stop being so weird and just hold your son.”

“What?” Karkat’s eyes go large as dinner plates. “Listen. I don’t. I mean, I haven’t even held a real grub and like. Well. He doesn’t know me--”

Terezi elbows her stammering moirail. “Just touch him, you big dork.”

“Okay. Sure.” Karkat reaches out to touch Arthat and your son moves away, frowning at the unfamiliar adult. The large mutantblood gently pats Arthat on the head. “You look like your mother, kid.” He grins. “Even in that dorky outfit.”

You glare at him. “The outfit is not ‘dorky’. It’s _Aarinfantasy_.” Which of course meant nothing to Karkat since he knew dick about clothing brands.  

“It’s ridiculous. I mean the _hat_.” Karkat chortles, “He looks like a freaking _newsie_ \--- _owww!_ ”

It was then Arthat snatched Karkat’s finger and bit down as hard as he could. You’re tempted to let Arthat bite it off, but you decide it would cause more of a mess than was worth it. A few head pets and Arthat releases Karkat’s finger.

“Ow! Fuck! Little _shit_!” Karkat looks at his finger, “He even drew _blood_!”

“I’ll give you hell if he gets sick.” Arthat giggles, looking up at you. There are droplets of red on his lips that you wipe away with a napkin. “There, there, baby. Your idiot father is done harassing you.”

Karkat rolls his eyes. “It was a _joke,_ Vriska.”

“Don’t make jokes like that about my son. Just because you have low self-esteem doesn’t mean _he_ has to.”

“I don’t have low self esteem and it was a _joke_! He’s adorable and _our_ son.”

Aranea’s laughter distracts you from the brewing argument and the other conversations dull to a low murmur. It’s the first time since your grandmother’s death that your mother has shown anything besides stony indifference.

“Look at that,” she says, eyes on Arthat and with a knowing smirk, “Marquise Spinneret Mindfang is gone, but her seed is strong and will last far into the future.”

Arthat grins, showing the remaining red streak in his fangs. _“Oui!”_ he concludes. 

 

* * *

 

You leave the funeral several hours later than you planned so you rush back to your penthouse to plan for the ‘wonderful’ evening with Vinton. Arthat is tired out from the day’s events so you undress him and give him over to Snippy. He’s not used to being around so many people. Besides you, no one else interacts with him. Hecuba keeps her distance, being well aware of the legal repercussions of meddling with a grub or their lusus.

You meet Vinton at Glorious Technicolor, but they have no interest in dancing. They sit at a table and indulge in their favorite pastime: making everyone’s life absolute hell. They order the waiters around, reordering food, changing their mind, and making them jump through hoops. One of the waiters isn’t willing to play their game and for that Vinton complains to the management. Another is far more willing to kowtow to Vinton’s demands and give a hundred boon tip.

You’re hungry after leaving Glorious Technicolor, as you still don’t trust Vinton around your food. On the drive to the penthouse, you ask, “What was the point of that?”

“You don’t understand _people_ ,” Vinton says in a matronly, educating tone, “If you let them think they’re above service work, they become awful at their tasks. They need a daily reminder that they’re servants.”

“So, in your deranged world, being a complete dick is being ‘helpful’.” you snort.

“It’s motivation. It worked on you.” Vinton says with a grin.

“I hate you.”

“Hate breeds more motivation than love. Have you ever heard of anyone _loving_ the teacher that motivates them? The best teachers push their pupils to the limits of excellence.”

The car easily passes through security since it’s not even eight o’ clock yet and the guards are relaxed. “What kind of fucked up thirteen year old logic is that? You’re just being a dick and a bully.”

“Don’t pretend you’re above it, girl.” Vinton purrs. The car parks and they lean over you. Their cloying perfume wafts over in a stinking cloud. “You may be another backwater cerulean but you have an eightfold eye for a reason. You can see the greatness in people that no one else can, so they must be pushed. Sure, they’ll hate you but you have to be the bad guy because badness motivates more than being syrupy sweet. Abrasive people like us get shit done.” Their nails grip your collarbone, hard enough to bruise. “After all, we’re _trolls_.”

You did do that. You pushed people in the hopes of making them better since you were molted…until you pushed Tavros over the edge and incrementally ruined his life. You purposely threw the basketball into the street and Tavros went chasing after it, only for the swerving car to hit and splatter him across the pavement. You impregnated him and abandoned him. Even though Tavros told the truth, he never admitted who the parent was and you never owned up to it, though you’re sure some suspicious has fallen on you.

You grab Vinton’s wrist. “Take it off before I fucking _break_ it off.”

Vinton bites the side of your neck and you shove them off, digging nails into their face and the soft flesh of their arm. You’re both scratched and bruised, but Vinton is in worse condition.

“Don’t fucking push me.” You growl.

Vinton snickers and gets out the car. Thankfully, they’re silent on the elevator ride to the penthouse and once you unlock the door, they stroll right in.

“This place hasn’t changed.” They observe the wall paintings and suede furniture. “I see Hecuba still has terrible taste in well…” They look at you, smirking. “… _everything_. Usually she goes to me for her guttersnipes.”

“Different how?” you ask before you can stop yourself.

Vinton’s smile grows wide. “ _Prettier_ for one thing and colder. Hecuba prefers her bulge well chilled and _well_ …” They chuckle. “You’re a _Niner_ , aren’t you?”

Your answer is a snort. The bitch knows where you’re from. You go to the kitchen to secure wine. If you have to spend an evening with Vinton, you’re not doing it sober.

While you decide on wine, Vinton continues talking. “It’s been years since dear Hecuba chose someone on the blue spectrum. Despite what she says, I think she’s still mooning over that stupid purple girl. _Gods_ only know why.”

You walk back to the living room with the wine and glasses to see Vinton sprawled on the couch. “How did you meet Hecuba?”

“Work? School? Who cares?” Vinton eyes the wine with disdain. “Are you serving me that swill? We must temper your host etiquette, Serket.”

“I’m a supermodel, not a call girl.”

“Your conviction works wonders, dear. Have you consider the theatre?”

“Shut up.” You sit on the couch and pour both of you drinks into tall glasses carved like flowers.

Vinton samples the wine. “Awful.”

“You think everything is awful.” You suck up the wine because alcohol is alcohol.  

“Only because I see reality far better than anyone else.” Vinton says and drizzles the alcohol on your thigh.

You shriek and run to the bathroom, cursing Vinton and their laughter. You slam the door and try to frantically scrub the stain but it’s no use. Cursing Vinton, you get your iHusk and start looking up wine stain removal methods. Your phone’s inbox is nearly full of texts and messages from friends and family wondering where you are and why you left early. You don’t bother answering.

You’re looking up one remedy (salt and vinegar) when you hear rustling in your bedroom. You enter the room and find Vinton rifling through your closet.

“Get out of here!” you yell.

Vinton continues rifling. “You really should have some entertainment for your guests, or at least play a movie. Oh my gods!” They hold up a cream dress with the ceruleanblood caste symbol on it. “Look at this _monstrosity_.”

“Give that to me!” You stomp over and yank the dress from Vinton’s hands. It rips slightly but you hold it to your chest.

“Did you make that ugly thing?” Vinton snickers, “I’ve seen better stitching by Indie toddlers in sweatshops. Is that the sort of thing trailer trash think is ‘fancy’?”

“Fuck you. I like it.” The dress was your first LARPing outfit. You begged Kanaya to make it and still sleep in it, though it’s a little tight. You smooth down the dress and hang it up in the closet. “I-its _mine_ and you have no right to touch it, you fuckhead!” You’re so angry that you’re shaking.

Vinton’s attention isn’t even on you anymore but something on the ground. They move to the door. “Oh, what’s this adorable thing?”

You hear Arthat loudly hissing and turn around. Snippy has entered the bedroom, hissing at Vinton.

“You’re so cute and hissy!” Vinton snatches Arthat without a second thought.

Arthat goes from hissing to panicked yelling. “Non! _Non_! NON!”

Your hackles immediately rise. All caution is thrown out the window when you see Vinton—of all people—touching your grub. “Put him down. _Now_.” You aren’t yelling but your voice is low and dangerous.

“Careful now, Mama.” Vinton folds their nails over Arthat, who’s biting their fingers, “You wouldn’t want me to drop your precious bastard, now would you?”

“You have until three to put him down.” The countdown is a distraction. Vinton’s eyes are on you and it won’t take long to put them to sleep.

Vinton smiles. “If you hurt me--”

A painful yelp cuts off the mintblood’s words. You look down and see Snippy is stinging Vinton. They toss Arthat away and he lands on the bed, now crying and shrieking at the top of his lungs. You pick up the wailing grub and immediately give him to Snippy. Snippy immediately runs over, grabs Arthat, and runs off with the wailing grub.

Vinton is backed into the corner. The welts on their legs are swelling, mint veins throbbing in pain. “Shit! Fucking _bugs_! I fucking hate _bugs_!” they moan, teeth clenched.

“This is less than what you deserve, fuckhead.” You growl and walk to the door.

Vinton’s knees hit the floor. “W-wait!” they wheeze, “I-I can’t move! You bitch, I can’t move!”

“It’s a mild paralyzer. Quit being a godsdamned _baby_.” You say, slamming the door on Vinton.

You hear Vinton’s pleas through the door, but you don’t care. You look in the living room for Arthat and Snippy, but they’re not present. They can’t be far though. Lusii are programmed to protect the young and if threatened, they’ll go somewhere they deem safe. You walk around the penthouse, checking the rooms that aren’t locked, and find Snippy in Hecuba’s library. Snippy is sitting under the desk, coddling Arthat in his claws. When you try to get close, he hisses.

You decide he needs space.

The stress has made you hungry so you make a sandwich and watch reruns of _Food Court Kings_. Vinton’s finally shut up so you open the bedroom door. The mintblood is still in the corner of your bedroom, lying face down and not moving.

“Hey, asshole.” You say, “When you get the feeling back in yours limbs, get the fuck out or I’m calling the cops.”

Vinton doesn’t respond. You don’t move in close. This could be a ploy. Just to be on the safe side, you get a broom and prod them with it. “Wake _up_ , asshole!”

Vinton emits a painful wheeze, shudders, but doesn’t move. You use the broom to flip Vinton over and feel bile rise in your throat. Their face is swollen, eyelids bulging, face flushed and sweating. Their legs are in the worst condition, with the stings now becoming giant swollen lumps of pus and pain.

You toss the broom aside and slap Vinton’s face. “ _Hey_! Snap out of it! C’mon, you fuck!”

Vinton shudders, makes a strangled, choking noise, and then goes limp. You keep slapping them, yelling in their face, but the mintblood doesn’t stir. A rash is breaking out along their skin and their clothes are straining against their bloated body.

“Oh fuck.” You scramble from the limp troll, “ _Oh fuck!”_

Thousands of panicked thoughts swarm your mind but you push them away. You take a deep breath. Panicking is the worst thing you can do. Alright. So. Vinton is having a bad reaction to Snippy’s poison and you lack the skills to deal with it. Who does?

The first person that comes to mind is Kanaya. She’s always prepared for worst case scenarios with CPR, basic first aid, and all that trite motherly shit…but you can’t ask her for help now.  

John comes to mind but that’s a weak hope. You don’t know if he has CPR or medical training. He may be as clueless as you are when it comes to taking pulses and he may not know much about troll anatomy and health. You could use his advice, but he doesn’t pick up.

You steal another glance at Vinton. They’re still not moving.

You debate, hesitate, and then understand who you have to call.

Karkat responds right away, though he has to talk over the sound of laughter and background chatter.

“What went wrong?”  

He sounds bored asking, as if he expected this failure. You let the slight go for now.  “I need you to come to my penthouse. I had an…accident.”

Karkat snorts something crass in Alternian. “Alright. Give me the address and tell the guard I’m coming.”

“Fine.”

You tell him the address, hang up, and call the guard station to let them know you’re expecting a guest, their name, and what they look like.

You drink two glasses of wine to calm your nerves, but it makes your head swim and your stomach is knotted. Snippy skitters back into the living room with a calmer Arthat on his back, but he’s still teary eyed. You can’t even look at him without a pang of guilt. Snippy crawls into his nest and cuddles Arthat, still glaring at you with his beady cerulean eyes. Watching television doesn’t distract you from the anxiety tightening your stomach.

You’re frozen on the couch until a sour smell creeps into the living room. At first, you think its Snippy or Arthat’s litter boxes but the smell is coming from your bedroom. You discover a wet spot spreading under Vinton. _Great_. You get a towel and try to sop up the mess and place it under Vinton in case of future ‘spills’.

Finally, Karkat shows up, wearing a heavy coat, gloves, and his messenger bag is bulging. You show him Vinton and Karkat goes to work. He shouts in Vinton’s face, gently shakes them, taps their face, lifts their chin, checks their airway, puts his face close to their mouth, tries pumping on their chest, and finally turns them on their side.

“Throat is swollen so airway could be blocked. How toxic is Snippy’s venom?”

“Only as bad as a bee sting.” you insist, “They can’t sell anything deadlier at the pet shops.” You bite your bottom lip. “This never happened before. The venom’s just supposed to paralyze for thirty minutes.”

“This has happened _before?_ ” Karkat groans, unable to keep the judgment out of his voice.

“ _Twice_.” Actually four times, but Karkat would raise hell about it.

Karkat slowly inhales. “Could be an allergic reaction.” He puts his ear on Vinton’s chest. “…not hearing a heart beat…”

“ _What_?” you say, shrill.

Karkat grabs Vinton’s swollen wrist to take the pulse. “No pulse.” He looks at you. “Either their heart’s slowed down or they’re dead.”

“Well they can’t _stay_ here!” It’s only a matter of time before dead people start to smell. “Maybe we can wrap them in a rug and move them…”

Karkat stands. “Vriska, this place is crawling with guards. No way you’ll be able to do anything without a camera getting footage or your neighbors wondering why we’re moving a soggy rug at eleven at night.”

“What about…a hacksaw? We can move them in chunks.” It would be messy and you’d need tools, but it could be done. “Or would acid be easier?”

Karkat grimaces. “Why are you asking _me_?”

“You’re the one with the questionable work history!” you huff.

“Yeah, and I quit for that exact reason. This isn’t _Breaking Bad,_ Vriska.” Karkat moves to the living room and you follow. He grabs the phone, “We’re calling 911 and letting the EMTs handle this.”

“ _No_!” You run over and snatch the phone, “Are you insane? The cops will think I murdered my boss in my client’s penthouse!”

Karkat rubs his face, grumbling. “Haven’t you heard of employment ethics? Bosses aren’t legally allowed to be involved with their employees. This incident is mud on their face and business.”

“Like hell it is.”

“Haven’t you heard of a little thing called ‘employee ethics’?” He glances at Vinton, “Want to tell me what went down here?”

“ _Nothing_ went down.”

“Your bruises make me think otherwise.”

You yank up your dress sleeve to cover your collarbone, glaring at him. “ _Nothing happened._ ”

“The police are going to ask you the same questions I have.” Karkat says, ignoring you, “They’re going to see Vinton, agitated lusus, crying grub, your bruises, and put the situation together. Lusii only attack trolls if their charge or the charge’s relative is in distress. You were in distress, so Snippy attacked--”

“ _Shut_ _up_!” you snap, “I was not ‘in distress’! Snippy just wandered in and stung Vinton because…” You shut your mouth. You’ll never hear the end of it if Karkat knows Arthat was in danger. He’ll insist on having full custody.

Karkat is indifferent to your frustration. “Who would you rather talk to: a stranger or a friend? Yeah, I’m your _friend_ , despite _everything_ because I don’t know any better. Now you can shove me-”

“Stop treating me like a victim!”

“I’m not treating you like a victim. I’m trying to treat you like an _adult_ : an adult I happened to have a kid with and I’m trying to make she’s safe!” He folds his arms. “When is Hecuba coming home?”

“Tuesday. She’s gone for the weekend.”

“Doing what?”

“Family stuff.” Karkat frowns more and you groan. “I don’t know all the details, _okay_? She just said she had something to do in Crystal Hill.”

Karkat looks back to Vinton with eyes narrowed. “Okay, this is what we’re going to do: you call the ambulance and tell them the truth. You’re going to explain the time lapse, why you called me first, and so on.”

You shake your head, heart pounding. “I-I can’t do that, Karkat. I can’t tell them… _everything_. Everyone will think I’m a victim.”

“Vriska,” Karkat growls, “take an honest look at yourself. You’re _already_ the victim. This kismesistude was shit from the very beginning and this is just the outcome.” He shakes his head. “It could’ve been you on the floor, or Arthat.”

You glance at Vinton, who is still limp. “ _Fine_.” you grumble.

You call 911, telling the operator the barebones of what happened. You do your best to sound frightened and mildly hysterical instead of listless. Twenty minutes later, the EMTs arrive along with the police. The EMTs check Vinton’s condition while the police talk to Karkat and you. You’re too tired to think of a creative lie, so you’re forced to speak the truth.

You tell them this isn’t your penthouse, but your girlfriend’s. You mention Vinton, your boss _,_ bullied you into coming here and harassed you until they crossed the line with Snippy.

The cops are both human and a few years shy of retirement. The older one has silver hair and glances at your bruises. “Cut and dry situation. They threatened the lusus, the lusus stung them to protect the child, and they had an allergic reaction.”

The EMTS load Vinton onto a stretcher and walk to the cops. They whisper to the cops and then he nods and says, “I can tell this asshole already put you through hell, so we’ll keep this quiet. The EMTs say the aggressor is just in a coma, so there’s no need to bring you to the station.” She nods. “You folks have a good evening.”

The cops and the EMTs leave the penthouse. Karkat and you clean up the mess and sit on the couch. You’re both silent, as if you’re trying to calculate the exact events here.

Karkat is the first to speak. “Could you imagine what insanity would have gone down if this had happened in the Ninth Ward?” he mutters.

“I don’t have to imagine.” You snort, “They would have tazered me and drag me down the station in cuffs. They have to keep this place ‘safe’ for all the college kids here. No one can know that crime is all around the city, even in the richest places. They can’t see that ugliness is everywhere.”

“Like what?”

“I saw someone overdose at Glorious Technicolor.” You say, without thinking, “I thought they were just passed out but they were foaming at the mouth. The EMTs took them but it wasn’t even in the papers. All the nightclubs here have all the drugs you could want: mind honey, crystal soporin, sweet juju, zombie dust, ectocooler…” You shake your head. “Sometimes I pretend to take stuff so people will fuck off.”

“Zombie dust? Haven’t heard of that one.”

“ _Humans_.” you snort, “They’ll grind up anything and put it in their bodies.”

You only smoked pot once in your life and the aftermath wasn’t pretty. You don’t know the full extent of your psionics so you avoid anything harder than that.

Karkat takes in your silence, and then says, “You need to get your shit together.”

You look at him. “That’s it? You’re telling me to ‘get my shit together’? _That’s_ your sage advice in my time of fucking need? You are _shitty_ moirail!”

“I am _not_ your fucking moirail, Vriska.” Karkat says, flatly, “As I’ve said before, you’d never listen to a moirail for the exact same reason you can’t listen to anyone else who’s nice. Your brain doesn’t comprehend it, but it understands hard truths.” He stands, looking down at you. “Get your shit together because I will fight you for full custody of Arthat.”

You don’t show him your anger at the very thought of being separated from Arthat. It’s an empty threat. Karkat doesn’t have the income to provide for your son, nor the space to house him. “Nice to know that you’re so perfect that you have to advise a ‘poor soul’ like me.”

“Nothing about me is perfect. I’m still getting my shit together too.” 

He leaves the penthouse and you’re alone and relieved. The tension of Vinton’s visit melts from your shoulders. You check on Arthat one more time before going to bed. You’ve earned a well deserved rest.


	3. never been better

**== >Vriska: Be Tavros at that very moment **

You have no clue what to do with the glass eyes. They were a gift—the _last_ gift from your grandmother--so you don’t want to throw them away, but they’re creepy as fuck. Gamzee is more interested in the glass eyes than you are, but you’re not surprised given your matesprit’s affection for shrunken heads. Said shrunken heads are hanging in your shared bedroom, which you hope will at least deter thieves.

Gamzee is rifling through the glass eyes, observing them. “Always thought glass eyes would be completely round, like marbles.”

“Nah. Each one is shaped to the eye socket. An eye isn’t totally round cause of the nerves on the end.”

Gamzee frowns. “I know what a real eyeball looks like.” He puts down one glass eye and picks up another, turning it over. “There’s blood on some of them.” He puts it down, grinning. “Motherfuckers must be going by ‘Cyclops’ now.”

You hadn’t thought of that. It would be just like your grandmother to take her trophies from the bodies of her enemies just like the Grand Highblood. You lay on the bed, cuddling your egg. “They give me a bad feeling. No one believed Grandma could see the future but I always had a feeling that she could see… _something_. Why else would she give me glass eyes for every hemotype and size?”

“No one can see the future.” Gamzee snorts, putting the other glass eye down.

“I thought you believed in all that? Witches, magic…”

“Magic is fake as shit, Tavbro.” He says but there’s no conviction in his words and his gaze is unfocused.

You want to ask him what’s on his mind but there’s a loud knock at the front door. You enter the living room to see your mother and Porrim standing in the open front doorway.

“ _Dad_?” Rufioh mutters, “Where the hell have you been?”

Your grandfather is standing in the doorway, teeter-tottering like he’s going to fall over. His eyes are bronzed with irritation. “Needed a break.” He mutters, “Sorry, I’m a little...jetlagged. I just got in. I would’ve slept it off in the woods but I wanted to see you…”

 _Jetlagged_? Where did he go?

Your mother sighs and smiles slightly, “Come in, Dad. You look like you’re going to collapse.”

Your grandfather walks to the couch and flops down on it, taking up all the space. In a minute, he’s snoring.

“Should we move him to the bedroom…?” Rufioh asks.

“Not a good idea. I remember what happened when my Dad passed out after drinking too much beer--even for _him—_ andDualscar tried to move him. Not a pretty sight.”

Rufioh nods. “Alright. Let him sleep it off.”

You glance at Gamzee but he’s already gone. He must have retreated as soon as he saw your grandfather. Instead of going back in the bedroom with him, you sit in a chair, watch some late night TV, and chat with Terezi.

 

AT: hOW FAR WOULD A PERSON HAVE TO GO TO GET JETLAGGED BAD ENOUGH TO PASS OUT?

GC: HMMM

GC: 1T R34LLY D3P3NDS ON TH3 P3RSON BUT G1V3N YOUR GR4NDF4TH3RS TOUGHN3SS H3 WOULD H4V3 TO 4T L34ST B3 R4P1DLY MOV1NG FROM 4NOTH3R T1M3 ZON3 TO G3T J3TL4GG3D

AT: wHAT COUNTRIES ARE IN ANOTHER TIME ZONE,

GC: UM

GC: TH4TS 4 GOOD QU3ST1ON

AT: oH MY GODS YOU HAVE TO BE KIDDING ME,

AT: yOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE THE SMART ONE!

GC: YOU KNOW V3RY W3LL TH4T TH3 N3W J4CK PUBL1C SCHOOLS H4V3N’T T4UGHT G3OGR4PHY 1N F1FTY Y34RS!

AT: i’M LOOKING UP A MAP,,,

AT: hUH,,,

AT: sOMETIMES I FORGET THIS PLANET IS MOSTLY WATER,

GC: YOU DON’T R34LLY NOT1C3 1T UNL3SS YOU’R3 LOOK1NG 4T 1T FROM SP4C3 BUT N3W 34RTH 1S T3CHN1C4LLY 4N OC34N PL4N3T

AT: sO THE COUNTRIES THAT ARE IN ANOTHER TIME ZONE ARE: ANYTHING ON THE EASTERN CONTINENT, pART OF THE NORTHERN CONTINENT, aND OUTLYING ISLANDS LIKE NEW FIJI AND EPSILON

AT: ,,,i DON’T THINK I’VE *EVER* HEARD ANYTHING ABOUT EPSILON OR THOSE OTHER TEENY ONES,,,

GC: TH3R3’S NOTH1NG 1NT3R3ST1NG ON TH3M 1S WHY

GC: 1F 1 R3M3MB3R MY HUM4N H1STORY R1GHT TH3 F1RST HUM4N COLONY W4S 1N TH3 SUMM3RS3ND 4RCH1P3L4GO 4ND TH3 F1RST TROLL COLONY W4S 1N 3PS1LON SO TH3 GROUPS B4S1C4LLY H4D NO 1D34 4BOUT TH3 OTH3R UNT1L TH3Y ST4RT3D MOV1NG TOW4RD C4NZ14

AT: wAIT, i THINK I REMEMBER SOMETHING,

AT: aREN’T THEY RESERVATION COUNTRIES?

GC: Y34H TH3 C4NZ14N GOV3RNM3NT 1NV4D3D SUMM3RS3ND TO COLON1Z3 1T FOR HUM4NS PUSH1NG R3PT1L14NS OUT OF TH31R HOM3 4ND S3V3R4L 34ST3RN COUNTR13S TR13D TO 1NV4D3 3PS1LON

GC: 4S 4POLOGY FOR TH3 1NV4S1ON TH3 C4NZ14N 4ND 34ST3RN UN1ON GOV3RNM3NTS R3TURN3D CONTROL OF SUMM3RS3ND 4ND 3PS1LON TO TH3 N4T1V3S

GC: WH1CH M34NS TH3 GOV3RNM3NTS DON’T H4R4SS TH3M 4S MUCH 4ND THOS3 COUNTR13S DON’T R34LLY BOTH3R W1TH 4NYON3

GC: TH3R3’S NOTH1NG 1NT3R3ST1NG SO NO ON3 GO3S SNOOP1NG TH3R3 4ND TH3Y’R3 SO F4R FROM OTH3R COUNTR13S TH4T TH31R 1NT3RN3T CONN3CT1ONS 4ND SH1PP1NG 1S 1NCR3D1BLY SLOW

AT: uGH,,, i’D HATE TO LIVE IN SUCH CRAZY ISOLATED PLACES,,,

GC: S4M3

AT: y’KNOW, mAYBE WE SHOULDN’T WORRY ABOUT GRANDPA SO MUCH?

AT: i MEAN, hE HASN’T DONE ANYTHING BAD SO FAR, i THINK AFTER WHAT HAPPENED WITH GAMZEE, hE NEEDED TO SPEAK TO HIS MOIRAIL OR AUSPISTICE,,,

GC: M4YB3

GC: 1 DON’T TH1NK TH3R3’S 4 PO1NT 1N B31NG 4FR41D OF H1M 4NYMOR3 3V3N THOUGH H3’S ST1LL CONC34L1NG SOM3 TH1NGS FROM US 1 DOUBT 1T 1S OUT OF M4L1C3

AT: i HOPE HE STAYS LONG ENOUGH TO SEE TORKEN HATCH,,,

AT: i'D LIKE FOR TORKEN TO HAVE A GOOD ROLE MODEL, oR AT LEAST A BETTER ONE THAN I HAD GROWING UP,,,

GC: YOU’R3 4 GOOD ROL3 MOD3L T4VROS

AT: aHAHAHAHA,,,,

AT: nOOOOO,,,,,

AT: i CONTINUE TO FUCK THINGS UP IN MY LIFE AND ALTHOUGH I FLUSH GAMZEE,,,I THINK I WOULD HAVE A MINOR MELTDOWN IF TORKEN DATED SOMEONE EXACTLY LIKE HIS FATHER,,,

AT: aND YOU KNOW,,,

AT: tHAT WHOLE THING WITH HANAEL,,,AND SO,,,,YEAH NO,,,,

AT: dEFINITELY NOT ME,,,

AT: rOLE,,,MODEL,,,,STUFF,,,,,

GC: TH4T DO3SN’T M34N TH3Y C4N’T LOOK UP TO YOU 4ND YOU DON’T H4V3 TO T3LL TH3M 4BOUT WH4T H4PP3N3D

AT: yEAH BUT,,,WE DON’T EXACTLY LIVE IN A VACUUM, tEREZI,,,

AT: sOONER OR LATER, sOMEONE WILL MENTION SOMETHING AND IT’LL BE,,,,

AT: bUT YEAH,,, wHAT’S GOING ON WITH YOU?

GC: 1M W41T1NG FOR K3MP13 TO H4TCH BUT TH3Y’R3 T4K1NG FOR3V3R! >:[

AT: eGG HATCHING IS NOT AN EXACT SCIENCE, wE ONLY HAVE SOMEWHAT OF AN IDEA WHEN TORKEN WILL HATCH,

GC: 1T’S T4K1NG FOR3V3R! 1 W4NT TO S33 TH31R CUT3 F4C3 4ND RUB HOW 4DOR4BL3 TH3Y 4R3 1N 3V3RYON3’S F4C3! >:[

 

You talk to Terezi, play some Fiduspawn, and go back to your room to sleep. Your matesprit is sprawled on the bed having kicked off the sheets due to the humidity. Despite sweating and listening to the obnoxious crickets outside, you have no trouble falling asleep…until a noise in the kitchen startled you awake. You do a quick check around the room: Torken’s safe in their nest but Gamzee is missing.  You grab the gun concealed under your underwear in the dresser.

You stalk down the hall, clutching the gun and straining your ears. In your mind, you see painted-green faces and smell the stink of blood and body fluids.

“—no! _Gods_.” Petros says, sharply.

“Why not?” Gamzee asks.

They’re both in the kitchen but you can’t see them from the hall, even with the door removed.

“Because I’m not indulging you in your creepy fetish.” Petros mutters.

“ _You’re_ one to talk.” Gamzee says.

“It was am moment of weakness and a really bad decision. Look.” Petros puts something down and sighs, “You’re young and have plenty of opportunities. You shouldn’t waste them enacting your abuse.”

“I’m not.”

“ _Really_? And what does your moirail say about quadranting with me?” Silence from Gamzee. “I’m assuming you didn’t tell them, or you _did_ and they said ‘Shit, that’s such a terrible idea, I have no words for it’. And don’t you _have_ a pitch?”

Gamzee groans.

“Don’t be impulsive.”

There’s another clatter. A plate falls on the ground and someone hits the wall with a soft _thud._

“I am not doing this, asshole.” Petros growls, “Do that again and I make sure the next time I strangle you, you _won’t_ get up.”

“And if…” Gamzee pants, “…if I…if I get up? If I keep coming back for it?”

Petros doesn’t answer. You hear him leaving the kitchen and you run back to the bedroom. You put the gun back, climb back into bed, and pretend to be asleep. Gamzee walks into the bedroom—grumbling—but you can’t. You can’t stop thinking about Nepeta. Should you tell her about Gamzee’s attempted pitch infidelity? Yes? No? Shit, this isn’t any of your business. You should speak to Aradia and Feferi about this mess.

You don’t fake-sleep for long. You get up at seven and check on Torken, making sure their egg is secure, before you sit up at your husktop to have a group chat with the rust and fuchsiablood.

 

AT: sO, i THINK GAMZEE HAS A PITCH CRUSH ON MY GRANDFATHER AND WELL,,,

AT: yOU KNOW HIM,

CC: Impulsive?

AA: well petr0s *is* h0t

AT: nOT THE POINT, gAMZEE ALREADY HAS A KISMESIS,

CC: Quadrants are never meant to be a permanent t)(ing, Tavros. T)(ey c)(ange as people c)(ange.

AA: y0u think gamzee wants t0 break up with nepeta and this is his c0mpletely idi0tic way 0f d0ing it?

AT: i SAID HE WAS MY MATESPRIT, i NEVER SAID HE WAS A GENIUS AT PERSONAL RELATIONSHIPS,

AA: maybe gamzee isn’t getting s0mething 0ut 0f his current kismesistude and that’s why he’s seeking 0ut 0thers

AT: tHIS ALL HAPPENED DURING THE BEATING WHICH HAS ME,,,,WORRIED,,,ABOUT THE IMPLICATION,,,

CC: I don’t like it eit)(er. Gamzee was abused in prison by older trolls and )(umans.

AT: mAYBE WE COULD MISDIRECT HIM TO SOMEONE ELSE?

CC: S)(ouldn’t we tell Nepeta about t)(is?

AT: nOT IT,

AA: n0t it

CC: Whale, I’m not doing it! 3>8[

AT: wE'RE NOT HELPING GAMZEE CHEAT, wE'RE HELPING HIM FIND SOMEONE ELSE TO MOON OVER, nEPETA CAN DEAL WITH THIS AS IT COMES BUT RIGHT NOW WE'RE PREVENTING THE IDIOT WE CARE ABOUT FROM HURTING HIMSELF,

CC: W)(at about )(oruss t)(en? )(e's strong.

AT: nO! oH MY GODS NO!

AT: i AM *NOT* HAVING HIM CRUSH ON MY FATHER! tHAT WOULD BE WEIRD!

AA: weirder than y0ur grandfather?

AT: yES! tOTALLY WEIRDER!

CC: W)(at about Equius?

AA: equius has a pitch

AT: wHAT? wITH WHO?

AA: i cant say

AA: hes kind 0f

AA: embarrassed 0v0

AT: oH MY GODS! yOU HAVE TO TELL ME!

AA: absolutely n0t

CC: Booooooo!

AT: nO FAIR!

 

Porrim knocks at the open door. You look up from your husktop and the jadeblood is smiling. “Do you want breakfast.”

“You? _Cooking_?” You frown. “What are you up to?”

Porrim folds her arms. “Being a good stepmother?”

“Can you even cook?” The Maryams were always mothering and kind, but cooking has been one of their strengths.

Porrim puts her nose in the air and walks away with pretended offense. “You’ll never find out with that attitude.”

You look back to your husktop.

 

AT: wHAT ABOUT PORRIM?

CC: Porrim? 38/

AA: p0rrim

AA: seri0usly

AT: wHAT?

CC: But Porrim and Kurloz )(ave t)(is weird…*t)(ing* going on, rig)(t?

AT: tHEY’RE NOT IN A QUADRANT,

AA: yeah but y0u want t0 distract gamzee at the risk 0f making kurl0z feel weird

CC: I doubt s)(ell say ‘yes’.

AT: iT’S PORRIM, wHAT REASON WOULD SHE HAVE TO SAY ‘NO’?

 

“Absolutely not.” Porrim says, not even looking up from the mixing bowl.

“Why not?” you ask, “You’ve been harassing Kurloz for years and now a highblood falls into your lap and you don’t want him?”

Porrim rolls her eyes. “You have so much to learn about quadrants, kid.”

“I’m not a kid.”

Porrim continues stirring, “Kismesistude isn’t a relationship that you can plan out. That goes against its philosophy of frustration and passion. Neither Gamzee nor me are interested in each other. I make him uncomfortable and I think he’s too pathetic to pitch. He’s just so… _tiny_.”

You frown. “Tiny? He’s damn near seven feet.”

“He’s tiny compared to Kurloz.” She sprinkles more cinnamon in the pancake batter. “Anyways, pitching our younger half-brother would make Kurloz and Rufioh feel uncomfortable and my family takes precedent over everything.” She looks up at you. “And before you say it, yes that includes your darling butterfly mother.”

“I don’t even know why you’re into my Mom. I thought you only liked women or feminine stuff, but there’s nothing remotely feminine about Mom.”

“Bisexuals are a thing, dear, especially for a non-sexually dimorphic species. If you want Gamzee to focus his sexual energy, he has to be socialized.”

“He’s not a dog.”

“No, but he lacks social graces. Very much like a dog kept in a kennel for most of their life. When was the last time he was with a group of people on his own?” When you can’t name a moment, Porrim says, “You can’t constantly hold Gamzee’s hand.”

“It’s not hand holding.”

Porrim pours the batter into a frying pan. “From my perspective it is.”

Petros walks into the kitchen, eyes half shut. “What are you doing…?”

“Cooking.” Porrim frowns. “We thought you would sleep for another ten hours.”

“I smelled food so I willed myself awake.” Petros mutters, “Valuable skill when you have no idea when your next meal is coming.” He leans against the wall. “Can you put a pancake in my mouth? I’m very tired.”

Porrim pours in more batter and starts flipping them. “I’m not putting a pancake in your mouth. I’m not your mother.”

Petros gives her the most pitying look possible. “B-but my mother’s dead...”

Porrim stares at him. “So is mine, but you don’t see me whining about it. Also, your mother was an animal.”

The older brownblood groans and folds his arms, “You are the _worst_ Maryam!”

“Keep that up and you’ll get _zero_ pancakes.” Porrim huffs.  

Porrim makes a pile of pancakes and serves them with bacon and eggs. Your grandfather devours them but neither Gamzee nor your mother show up. You’re not too worried about Gamzee, as he’s had days like this and Terezi and you exchange tips about how to manage your matesprit’s bad days. If it’s a _really_ bad day, you contact Feferi.

You share the couch with your grandfather and Porrim but Rufioh isn’t around. “Doesn’t Mom want pancakes?”

“He said he felt too tired to eat right now.” Porrim sighs, frowning, “He’s been talking with Kurloz since early this morning, so maybe he’ll feel better afterward.”

“How long have Kurloz and Rufioh been moirails?” your grandfather asks.

“Oh, it must be _years_ by now...” Porrim briefly calculates, putting another pancake in her mouth. “Kurloz was released from prison in ‘24 and I think by the next year they were moirails so…eight years? Or close to it.”

“We’re getting so close to 2130. It’s _ridiculous_.” You grumble.

“Try and concentrate on 2128 and graduation.” Porrim chuckles.

The bedroom door opens and you look down the hall, expecting your matesprit, but its your mother. The blood is drained from his face.

“I…” he stammers, “…I have to go to Kurloz.”

Porrim blinks. “Why? What’s going on?”

“The police...they’re…” Rufioh stammers.

The sound of a siren interrupts him and he doesn’t have to finish the sentence or the thought. Porrim grabs Rufioh and runs out of the living room. You grab Torken, secure their egg in your bag, scribble a note for Gamzee and quickly place the leftover food in the fridge. He’s not the best with these confrontations so he’s best left at home watching over Torken’s egg. You would bring the egg if you weren’t so anxious about it getting damaged if things get rough.

You go outside and hear the all-too-close and familiar noise of a crowd and people wondering what’s going on. Once again, you’re living that night of horror when the Cherubs attacked and all that stood between you and a bullet was moving fast. Without thinking, you run through your backyard. You skirt from the Vantas-Pyrope yard to the Leijon-Makara one, clinging to the side of the Leijon-Makara trailer. You cling to the side of the trailer while Rufioh and Porrim are on the other side. You peek out to gage the situation.

There are two cop cars out in front of the trailer. One is flashing lights, lighting up the trailers with red and blue and making the occasional whoop. There are two officers near the car, trying to keep people back, and there is another office behind the second cop car. You can’t see his hands, which means he must be packing a gun for a long distance shot. Three other officers are speaking to Kurloz on the front lawn but there’s a fourth behind the first cop car.

You see Karkat, Terezi, Kankri, Kanaya, Eridan, Sollux, and Dave in the growing crowd. Terezi is the only one not in school or work clothes and she has a death grip on Kankri so he doesn’t run to defend Kurloz. You see Nepeta in the trailer doorway holding onto Meulin in the same manner. She doesn’t want it to be like the last time Meulin tried to get between her matesprit and the police.

Kurloz has his head bowed and offers up his wrists. The officers give each other a quizzical look but the third one—Officer Caegar; you realize—nods. The second officer cuffs Kurloz.

“You have the right to remain silent.” Caegar recites, “Anything you say or do can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney--”

“What’s going on?” Your mother steps onto the lawn but keeps his distance from the cops. Porrim and Petros are at his back.

Caegar glances at him but focuses on Kurloz. “And what is your relation to the accused?”

“I’m his _moirail_.” your mother growls. He steps forward but Petros grabs his shoulder to hold him in place.

Caegar sighs. “I’m sorry, sir, but we have an arrest warrant.” She sounds genuinely sympathetic.

“For who?” Rufioh growls.

“The murder of Sergei Vantas, Meliak Vantas, and several others. A witness placed a large troll fitting his size at the time and place of the murders, he was the only suspect to be able to lift the murder weapon, and he has motivation.”

Motivation? Kurloz would only kill for money or family, so what motivation did he have to murder the Trussians? The only thing that comes to mind is Kurloz’s Brotherhood connection, but Kurloz stopped wearing the paint months ago…unless he did it for Kankri, or at Kankri’s request.

“Kurloz was home the night of the murders. I can attest to that.” Rufioh says.

“We have our debates at the station, not on people’s lawns, sir,” Caegar says.

Mother looks ready to debate about Kurloz’s innocence but Petros steps forward, moving between Rufioh and Officer Caegar. The look in his eyes makes it feel like cold water is running down your spine.

“He’s right. You’re arresting an innocent person.” Petros says, “I’m the one that did it.”

Caegar frowns. “Sir, this isn’t the time for theatrics. This is a serious investigation. If you continue to make a scene, we’ll have you arrested.”

Petros inhales tired but says nothing. He calmly walks past you, into the backyard where he yanks a sturdy branch off a tree. Then he returns to the front yard, plucking off the branch’s leaves. Everyone is frozen and even the cops and Caegar are wondering what in the hell is going to happen next. Petros hefts the branch and then flings it through the air.

Cops yell and dive out of the way. The branch slams into the door of the second cop car, embedding itself two feet in solid metal. People are running off, scared of the scene and multiple _clicks_ fill the air. All the cops have their guns on Petros, but your grandfather is serene and calm as always. He makes no move to challenge or defend himself.

“Take them both in! _Now!_ ” Caegar orders, fighting the fear in her voice.  

The cuffs look flimsy on Petros; one sudden move and he could snap them but he doesn’t struggle against it. He looks at the cuffs like he would any children’s toy.

You walk toward him. “Grandpa…what…”

Petros looks at you with a tranquil smile. “Tav,” he says, “be good, okay?”

His words have a dismal ache to them and your heart sinks in your chest. There’s a lump in your throat as you mutter, “Okay.”

The police take Kurloz and Petros away and you stand on the Leijon lawn. It feels like your insides were yanked out and dumped on the ground. The local news arrives, trying to catch footage and speak to the cops but Caegar refuses to comment. Your skittish neighbors offer paranoid words about your neighborhood. None of the reporters approach you, your family, or friends. After the Cherubs, they know better.

The sparse interview and lack of interesting footage forces the reporter to editorialize as they see fit. They speak into a camera. “I’m sure citizens of New Jack are wondering: when will the violence end? Will there ever be a day of peace in the decaying neighborhood that is— _ah!_ ”

A rock flies past the reporter’s face. Your head swivels around but you can’ tell where the rock came from. Nepeta has stepped away from her trailer with tears in her eyes and radiating pure rage.

“Get the _fuck_ off _my property,_ you _fucking parasites!_ ” she snarls, “My family’s miserable enough without you assholes broadcasting it to the entire city!”

It’s the first time you’ve seen Nepeta’s highblood side and legitimately felt intimidated.

“This is freedom of speech! You can’t just--” the reporter tries to argue.

A clot of mud sails through the air, striking the camera. The cameraman shouts and tries to shake off the mud but other people are taking the initiative and start throwing mud as well. The reporter yelps and breaks into a run and even the usually brave stringers decide to abandon their investigative journalism. People shout at the vans, still pelting rocks and mud until they leave the neighborhood.

Once they leave, Equius goes to Nepeta. She’s not crying but her fangs are clenched in bitter frustration.

“I’m _sick_ of it, Equius,” she whispers, “I’m sick of being a spectacle.”

You don’t understand why she’s so skittish until you go inside. The Leijon-Makara trailer is in good condition, but cramped. There are still scuffmarks on the floor from Cherub boots and rough plaster patches over bullet holes in the wall. Equius sits on the couch with Nepeta leaning against him and Aradia on his other side leaning on you. Karkat sits with Terezi and Dave while Porrim is comforting Rufioh, hunched over in misery.

“There’s this asshole that’s been hanging around our neighborhood,” Nepeta says, “He’s from TLC and he’s been going to different trailers looking for ‘talent’.”

“Talent…?” Terezi mutters.

Nepeta looks down. “Reality TV show kind of ‘talent’…”

“Oh gods.” Karkat scrunches his nose like he’s smelled something rancid. “You mean like… _Duckbeast Dynasty?”_

“Yeah,” Nepeta grumbles, “they’re looking for someone to fill a new timeslot since most of the members of _Duckbeast Dynasty_ have died from diabetes-related illnesses or are still in prison after what happened during the Winter Holiday special.” She clenches her teeth. “They see my family as _entertainment_.”

The thought of cameras following you and then the paparazzi as well digging up your questionable past makes a wave of nausea rush through you. You wobble but thankfully, don’t collapse.

“They picked _you_ guys?” Dave asks, “You’re _normal_ compared to most of us.” He smirks at Karkat. “We’re the ones with the troll and the honor of having the most weapons in our trailer.”

“Yeah, because the multiple gun racks give off a _friendly_ vibe.” Karkat snorts. He looks around the room and frowns, “Where’d Kankri go?”

“I think they would want to _avoid_ an assfull of lead. You know how much your brother loves his privacy.” Karkat says. He looks at Terezi, “Hey, where’d Kankri go?”

“He started to have a panic attack, so he went to the trailer to calm down.” Terezi sighs, “I called Cronus so he should be here soon.”

While everyone speculates about what will happen to Kurloz and Petros in police custody, Aradia whispers to you, “How are you doing?”

“I don’t know. I think it’s all still…sinking in.” You’re not thinking about yourself but your mother. He’s still silent with Porrim’s arm around him.

Aradia plops Themma in your lap. “Hey, try not to worry too much. Themma misses Uncle Tavros!”

Themma stares at you with rust-eyed indifference. You smile and poke her on the nose. “She’s adorable, Aradia.” Themma bites your finger, growling. “Has an attitude though.”

“We’ve been trying to teach her a few words.” Equius says.

“Like what?” you ask.

“Say ‘hi’, Themma.” Equius says.

“No!” Themma says, frowning.

“That’s our progress so far.” Equius sighs.

“Oh, you’re raising a _real_ _charmer_ there.” Karkat snickers.

“ _No_!” Themma growls, puffing herself up.

Simham squeaks at Nepeta, currently wrapped in Meulin’s arms. Meulin surrenders the olive grub and Nepeta sighs, patting him on the head. The grub nuzzles her lap and refuses to move.

“He always does this when he thinks I’m in distress.” Nepeta sighs. Simham giggles and rolls onto his back, exposing his belly. Nepeta picks him up and kisses him. “Yes, you’re my perfect little boy.”

You wonder if Gamzee was this cuddly as a grub, but all you can imagine is a snarling purple grub.

People leave the trailer, returning home or arriving late at school. Aradia and Equius leave for school but you don’t bother. You’re still on laying leave after Torken and can take online classes whenever you feel like it. You hate being stuck at hope but its for the best.

Once the others have left, Meulin folds in on herself. Nepeta offers hopeful, sympathetic words for her mother but the older oliveblood retreats to her bedroom. Nepeta looks miserable so Porrim pulls out a deck of cards and tries to teach Nepeta and you how to play poker.

“Mom’s just worried about everything lately.” Nepeta says, “She’s getting closer to her due date.”

“Are you looking forward to being a big sister twice over?” you snicker.

“ _No_ ,” Nepeta grumbles, “I’m the only one with a stable job and I don’t know how longer I can take it. There’s not much room for upward mobility in sanitation.”

You don’t envy her job; lugging garbage is heavy, nauseating work, but at least she’s earning money. The best career Rufioh and you can hope for with your skills is something in animal control.

“Has Gamzee been helping you with Simham?” Porrim asks.

“ _Ha_!” Nepeta places Simham on the table and the grub sniffs the cards. “If you think I’m waiting for _Gamzee_ to be a responsible adult, you must think I’m the biggest idiot on the planet. He came around a few weeks back. Haven’t seen him since then.” She puts down a card. “Good luck on _your_ end trying to get Gamzee to be a parent.”

You want to argue that Gamzee could be a halfway decent parent if given the chance but you can’t piece it together knowing your matesprit’s current state of disarray.

In the early evening, a ragged taxi pulls up to the trailer and Kurloz steps out. His shirt is moist from sweat and clinging to his skin, his eye is black, and there are bruises where the wrist cuffs once were. Meulin runs from the trailer to embrace him.

“Wa…water.” Kurloz chokes.

Its the first time you’ve heard Kurloz speak. His voice doesn’t match his size or stature, being weak and gravelly. You hadn’t even heard about Kurloz going under the knife to help him speak, but maybe he kept it under wraps…in case it wasn’t successful.

Your mother gives Kurloz a tall glass of water with ice in it, delivered with a pale kiss. Meulin and Rufioh sit on either side of Kurloz, clinging to him.

“What happened to your face?” Nepeta asks.

Kurloz frowns. “Asshole cops. Wanted to bust up…” He gestures to his face and sips more water before continuing. “Thought it was a…conspiracy. Petros and me…working together…” Even with his sparse words, Kurloz has a long way to go in his therapy. He slurs most of his words, namely the hard consonants.

“What about Grandpa?” you ask.

Kurloz shakes his head. “They still have him. Won’t let anyone see him.”

You weren’t expecting good news but your heart sinks a little in your chest. You decide to return to your matesprit, leaving your mother with his moirail. Upon leaving the house, you’re assaulted by New Jack’s brand of vicious mosquitoes, aggravating gnats, and speed-freak dragonflies. The dragonflies are harmless but their gigantic size has always freaked you out. You flee to your trailer as fast as possible.

The trailer is dark and everything is as you left it. In the bedroom, Gamzee is still cocooned. You place Torken in their nest and sit next to your matesprit. “Gamzee?” Gamzee doesn’t answer and he doesn’t move. You touch what you assume is his bony shoulder, feeling the chill of his blood through the blanket. “Are you sick?”

“I don’t know.” comes the muffled response.

“Do you want me to call Feferi?”

“No.” Gamzee’s gangly arm reaches out from under the blanket and grabs your shirt. “Stay with me…”

You crawl under the blanket. You hug him and feel his ribs against your arms. “Gamzee…” You mull over the words because you don’t want to offend him, but you have to ask, “…have you been…eating?”

“Not hungry.” Gamzee mumbles into your shoulder.

You can’t recall the last time Gamzee cleared his plate. Like Kurloz, he picks at his food and eats in small bites. You read that such methods are necessary for imprisoned trolls, as the next meal could be contaminated by glass or shit.

“You should eat something…” you advise.

Gamzee grumbles and rolls onto his back. Paint is flaking off in large chunks. “Why do you put up with me?”

“Is there some reason I shouldn’t?”

“Plenty.”

“I don’t agree with that.”

“Even if you know I raped and killed people?”

“It’s difficult for me to have a problem with murder.” You have a feeling what he’ll say next, so you bite the bullet. “I know you raped Kankri. I put it together a long time ago.”

Gamzee frowns. “You should give me to the cops.”

“No.”

“Tav--”

“I am _not_ your jailer, Gamzee, and I’m not your victim either. If you feel guilty, _Kankri_ is the one you should talk to.”

“…I don’t feel guilty.” He admits, “I don’t feel… _anything_. I barely remember it. I don’t _get_ it, Tav.” He sits up. “Why are you…’okay’ with this? With me?”

“I’m _not_ ‘okay’ with it.” You say, frowning, “Indifferent is a better word. The police would handwave it given your mental condition. And our relationship isn’t exactly the most normal either. We solidified our quadrant because your murdered someone for me, which I still appreciate you doing. You…helped me when I needed it the most.” You lower your head. “But if you do it again, I won’t defend you.”

Gamzee pauses and touches your arm. “Alright.” He pulls you close to him. “Flush you.”

You go limp in his arms. His temperature is cold, but not like Feferi’s icy condition. You shut your eyes. “Flush you too.”

You’ll talk to Feferi about Gamzee’s eating habits and ask him about Simham later. For now, you need to rest.


	4. epilogue: recall

**== >Tavros: Be Cronus several hours into the past**

You were making breakfast for Karcin when you got the call from Terezi. Immediately you packed up breakfast and gave Karcin to Mrs. Paint so you could drive to the trailer park. Even early in the morning, the park is plagued by insects; mosquitoes and gnats already swarming after the brief winter. You don’t look forward to moving back here and having to deal with Karcin’s multiple bites. In the Ninth Ward, bug spray only irritated the flying annoyances.

Inside the Pyrope-Vantas trailer, Kankri sits on the living room couch, staring at the dark TV screen. His hands are knotted on his knees in tight balls. Terezi is nowhere to be seen but she can’t be far. You strain your earfins and pick up her humming in the bedroom, maybe listening to music or singing to Kempie’s still unhatched egg.

You sit next to your moirail. “How you doing, Kan”? you ask.

Kankri frowns. “I…” He holds his head, as if fighting a migraine. “I tried to bury it in my mind because I was scared…but now it’s all coming back. The  smell of crisp bodies and blood…” The mutantblood looks at you, his eyes wide with horror. “I know who killed Sergei and Meliak.”

The moisture in your mouth suddenly evaporates. “How do you know that?”

“Because I saw it,” Kankri states, “I saw _everything_.”


End file.
